


It's a Bad Idea

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [38]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Affection, Angst, At least not now, But Sherlock can't resist, First Kiss, M/M, Pool scene, Post-Reichenbach, Sheriarty - Freeform, Trying to put logic in relationships, apprehension, i can't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Am I here for a chat, or is there a reason you've pulled me from my scheming at this late hour?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #73: I Can't

**We need to talk. You know what time. You know where. No snipers.**

 

Sherlock had posted that on his long-forgotten blog two hours ago. _Well… mostly forgotten._ Its state of "near-ignored" actually made it a great place to send secret messages — unlike with texts, no one (see: Mycroft) could prove who Sherlock was trying to communicate with. Except the one person who still checked the page regularly, who knew _everything_ Sherlock meant.

Now, minutes to midnight, he leans against the wall closest to the boy's locker rooms. _Clandestine meetings at the pool… place of real significance and whatnot…_ He winces, _Perfectly morbid enough to set the tone for the conversation I'm about to have._

For almost the entire day, the detective hasn't been able to stop toying with his inner coat pocket, making sure the contents of which are still there. _Of course, an inanimate object can't just undo the snap and walk away…_ Despite self-reassurance, he couldn't help but obsess, trying to convince himself that the cold iron would vanish at any moment, and he _wasn't_ about to have this conversation. 

"Sherly." A brilliant trill reverberates throughout the building making the detective's knees weak, "To what do I owe the honor?" The echo masked his location, _he could be anywhere._

"Uh… what?" Sherlock has to shake his head a bit — he hadn't been ready for the butterflies in his stomach to do somersaults. 

Jim walks out from the shadows, not a meter away, "Am I here for a chat, or is there a reason you've pulled me from my scheming at this late hour?"

Sherlock deliberately holds his hand out, dangerously close to touching the Westwood blazer, displaying the blooming metal rose that had been left on his desk, "What is this?"  

"It's a _flower_ , Sherlock." Jim teases, "Didn't think your deductive skills had fallen so far."

"What does it _mean_?" Usually, the detective was up for playful banter, but this was beyond serious. If he were right about the purpose, then it was a gesture of the most diabolical kind.

"It's a gift." Jim feigns surprise, "From my affection to yours."

Sherlock inhales, afraid this was the answer. "I can't."

"Can't what?"

"I can't do this with you, Jim." 

Moriarty frowns, "Why not?"

"Because we're us?" Sherlock sighs, "We've both already done the maths, and have foreseen our inevitable conclusion."

"Which is?"

"Mutually assured destruction." Sherlock shuffles his feet, "It's just _cruel_ to make me consider it." _Consider the possibility of being happy, with you… only to realize, again and again, you will probably kill me someday… well, no, sorry, "burn" me._

Of course Moriarty had already made this realization — no matter how many times he replays all variations of the scenarios their relationship could take, it all ends in pain. But somehow, that doesn't seem to matter, "So?" He asks pointedly. 

"'So?' What do you mean, ' _So?_ '"

"What does it _matter_? Tons of the _ordinaries_ have relationships that are doomed to fail."

"Which is why you and I have avoided such attachments." Sherlock finds himself getting worked up, frustrated, but does his best to keep his physiology from betraying that fact, "We're smarter than that."

"Yes… but I think it'd be worth it."

"Define 'worth it.'"

"Say we last a month…" Jim steps forward, close enough for Sherlock to see the devious passion burning bright in his nemesis' eyes, "It'll still be the greatest month of my life." 

"Jim, last time we had a _slight_ tiff, you destroyed my reputation and faked suicide."

"But you did _too_ … shouldn't we consider ourselves even?" 

"You _made_ me do it!" Sherlock yells, "That was just plain manipulative."

"I promise not to do it again?" Jim shrugs.

"How can I — "

"Don't be _boring_." Moriarty leans forward, "What has your comfy, genius life been so far, hmm? Isn't it time for a little risk? Perhaps a little stupidity?" 

Sherlock considers giving in — there's truth to what Jim says. They both crave a bit of _danger_ , and the volatile nature of their uncertain-but-certain future. 

"Come on, Sherlock." Jim singsongs, "We're the closest to soul mates the other is ever going to get." 

The taller man can't deny this. Not one bit. But every single one of his protective instincts screams to run. To cross his arms over his torso to defend against the onslaught of emotional winter that awaits him down this path.

"Just this once." He whispers, Jim smirking in victory. It's with an elated, yet still sinking, heart that he kisses the criminal. The feeling is not unlike being trapped between heaven and hell; perfect paradise, and an endless wave of torture, both physical and mental. 

Maybe it won't be this once. Maybe it'll be a month. Maybe it'll be years. But sooner or later, they both know Sherlock's resolve will finally scream: _I can't._

 


End file.
